


Sunday

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, PG - Green Cortina, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-06
Updated: 2008-04-06
Packaged: 2019-01-20 19:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12440427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: I'll love you in the morning, when you're still hung-over.





	Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).

_You're not what I expected at all._

_Then again, I don't suppose I'm being very fair in that assessment. None of this is really what I expected._

_The thing that gets me most of all is you're so much more than you seem at first. If taken at face value, you're a boorish, intransigent alcoholic with an ill-controlled temper, questionable dress sense and a serious obsession with proving just how hard you are. I haven't even touched your idea of a good meal or your nearly pathological need for a fag yet, nor your curious habit of quite literally calling me every name in the book, particularly the girly ones._

_I could continue this litany but I couldn't define you if I tried._

******

Cruelly bright yellow sunlight beamed eye-searingly golden and warm through a dingy, half-covered window into Sam Tyler's flat. By now, the sun was almost straight upward and at full power; by contrast, the inhabitants of the flat were decidedly neither.

 

 

Sam had his eyes screwed tightly shut against the sun, wishing he hadn't drunk quite so much if only because the sun was so bloody painful. The drink itself was, of course, less so. While hang-overs weren't his favourite thing in the world, he'd learnt how to deal with them effectively, especially in recent time. They were becoming a regular feature of daily life, just one more strange thing he'd slotted into his life rather more easily than he would previously have suspected.

 

 

One thing he wouldn't get used to, however, was Gene's snoring. Bastard was _loud_. Enough to wake the dead. 

 

 

"Isn't it about time you woke up?" Sam leaned over and spoke in Gene's ear, gradually increasing his volume. 

 

 

"Aren't you supposed to be saying that to a mirror?" Gene's eyelids felt glued shut with sleep. Or perhaps he was merely wishing they'd been glued shut since he felt the sun burning into them from the other side. It was hard to say which was true.

 

 

For once, Sam chose to ignore this comment. The day just felt too good. The morning just felt incredibly... _right_ , somehow. It felt real. Moreso than any other morning had done since he'd come here, in fact. He laid his head back down, arms folded backward with hands cradling his head as he snuggled into the pillows. The warmth of the sun was quite enjoyable with his eyes closed. It only added to their cosiness as Gene snuggled closer into Sam, each privately savouring the other's warmth. 

 

 

Neither of them had planned any of this, of course. If hard-pressed, in fact, it's possible they'd have denied the whole thing. But after a truly massive amount of scotch (as evidenced by the multitude of empty bottles stood accusingly along the kitchen sink), suddenly all sorts of things started making sense. Which was, after all, why both of them had taken up drinking as something slightly more serious than a hobby. It could bring confusion, true, but it could also impart a certain clarity. A clarity that perhaps neither would have felt comfortable with admitting in a different state of mind, but that was something to puzzle out for another time. 

 

 

Physical contact between them had always been high. It got to the point where Sam began to anticipate it almost gleefully, parrying Gene's verbal barbs and thrusting his dry wit home so he'd earn a punch. A slap. Never actually violent, except maybe toward the beginning; and even then, not truly violent, as Sam came to realise after having done a number of interviews with the man and his suspects. Eventually, those touches began to speak a language of their own. They became softer, somehow, as though Gene knew this was why Sam said the things he did. Why he acted and thought the way he did. They were never caresses; that would have been a bit ridiculous. Rather, they lay somewhere in-between, and though neither would ever have admitted it under duress, both looked forward to it. 

 

 

Last night, though, it had come to a head. Those punches and thrusts had turned into something else entirely. Still not caresses; it would never be like that, because neither of them was that sort of person. Still, the need to inhabit each other's skin, the need to possess completely, the need to simply understand overtook them. A messy tangle of limbs, sheets, clothes, and sweat-slickened skin erupted on Sam's bed. And floor. It was actually quite a bit like a wrestling match, only with actual kissing instead of it only being implied. And also less clothing. Truly something out-of-the-ordinary, but Sam smirked as this particular thought came to mind, because as such, it's exactly what he should have expected. 

 

 

"Have you got any eggs?" Gene mumbled, eyes still shut.

 

 

"As it happens, I do. Do you want me to fix you some?" Sam said, making no move to get out of bed.

 

 

"Maybe later." Gene snuggled a little closer, both into the pillow and into Sam.

 

 

For at least half an hour longer, they lay in complete silence, drinking in warmth, eyes shut tight. And smiling, though neither of them could see it.


End file.
